The Stranger of Deling Hotel
by Scribbleness
Summary: All Rinoa wanted was an interview with Cid Kramer, a shower, and a rest. But at one point that night, she found herself under control of a mysterious stranger. And she could not even protest to him! Who is he? Where is he taking her? One-shot Squall-Rinoa. Lemons.


**Disclaimer**: Everything I don't own in this story is not mine.

**Author's Note**: Well, I hope you enjoy this one-shot. =) So far, I don't have plans to add more chapters in this story, as it is intended only to be a one-shot. So yeah, no minors allowed!

* * *

It is quite an amusing place to be at an interesting time. Though I couldn't decide if I should feel lucky to be here. At all.

Today is… oh, I don't remember anymore. Somewhere in the first week of March. All I know is, there is a grand ball for the students of Balamb Garden, and the Deling Hotel was chosen by the school's headmaster for the venue. That, and I am here for two things: an interview with the headmaster, and my salary. I can't even begin how badly I need my salary tomorrow. If I ever want to see my paycheck— hell, if I want to pay my tuition fee on time, I have to finish my coverage of this Hyne-forsaken event by tomorrow morning! I guess I won't be able to enjoy my privilege for room accommodations tonight.

Which reminds me. Where in Ifrit's name is my luggage?

Never mind that. Where in this huge place am I? All I can see now are loads and loads of people with cameras, microphones and notepads pushing me against the crowd, giving me not even an inch of space to breathe. And blinding me too, with those flashes of light and their endless waves coming from everywhere! I don't even know where they are bringing me!

Ever so forcefully, like a tuna escaping the fisherman's nest, I squeezed my way out of the crowd. After all, they only wanted a few words, or at least a picture of the most overrated student in the history of this Garden. Which is kind of intriguing because no one ever knew his name or saw his face. There were only words of how accurately and flawlessly he delivers the job as a mercenary, an achievement that no one, not even the best assassin in the history of the world, had ever done before.

"Like a storm that never falters" as they would put it. "You would never know when he will strike. But once he does, calamity follows, and he will wipe out everything that you have, leaving nothing, not even a memory of him."

And for that, the famous Headmaster Cid Kramer and his wife had found him absolutely indispensable, and are very much proud of him. There was even this one rumor that he might already be inheriting the whole Balamb Garden once he turns eighteen. If the rumors are true, then I understand why it is necessary for the Kramers to do anything for this boy.

Although I feel quite sad why they also find it necessary to conceal the boy's identity and only recognize him by his credits. He has a name too, you know, unless he deliberately chose to keep his anonymity. And if that's the case, then he reminds me of a superhero who is insistent on hiding his identity, never to reveal himself unless he tells someone outside Balamb Garden, or a villain discovers it.

Or just until he intentionally shows himself up, but who knows?

I look at the crowd, and for the first time today, I feel less sorry for myself. I feel lucky for not being assigned to write about that mysterious student. An interview with the headmaster is _easily_ more attainable. Why? Just look at that crowd, pushing themselves each other to death, so much for a just glimpse of that student. And all they constantly get is a false warning from someone who is not even involved in this chaos. They don't even know anything about him, not even his face, or the color of his hair. At least they (or we) know he's not eighteen yet.

Holding more tightly on my bag, I walk out of the scene and climb up the huge, spiral staircase at the center of the lobby (which I eventually found after getting lost and ending up at the kitchen where they suspected this student to be hiding). There are still crowds of journalists up here, but not as much as there are downstairs. People here, as I would put it, are more docile compared to the mayhem I encountered. But they still hold no consideration for anyone else except the important people of the event, and themselves. Still, they treat me as nothing but someone who always blocks their views of the event. But I don't care, I never did. I just kept my eyes in search for the headmaster. I intend on finishing this as soon as possible and get it over with.

I am facing a huge door that I'm guessing to be the entrance to the auditorium. These more docile coverage journalists are patiently (by their standards) waiting for the event to start, and for the important people to march into the huge room. I search for my place by the door and rest my back against the wall, waiting with them for the next fifty minutes until people in dark, heavy uniforms started to arrive. The journalists step aside, including myself, and it was the only moment when I noticed that we were trying to clear a red carpet. These important people of Balamb Garden walk only on the surface the red carpet covers. I lift my arm over my face to cover the flashes of light from the cameras that capture those precious smiles and moments of these supposedly celebrities of this event who I am not even familiar with.

I walk away from my spot as I have intended to do the moment the crowd surround a girl with blonde hair, who seems as young as I am. Her silky hair was tied in a bun, and her blue eyes are covered under her clear spectacles. She was a tad taller than I am, but her face… her gorgeous face that is undeniably the reason why these people are fighting their ways just to capture once picture of that countenance.

"Quistis!" As they call her, shouting her name from every direction.

"Quistis Trepe!"

Now's my chance. Once again, for the nth time, I leave the crowd and searched for one Cid Kramer. He should be close. He must be.

"Excuse me, Dear." A kindly voice of a man calls to me. I turn around to take a look at him, and my eyes instantly widen.

"Oh my, Headmaster Kramer!" I can feel my smile reaching my ears at the sight of him. "Sir, how I'm glad to finally see you!"

He chuckles, his eyes turning into a thin line behind his own set of spectacles. His short, but stout stature slightly leaning back at his hearty laugh. "Same here my dear, same here. You don't happen to be my dear friend General Caraway's daughter, are you? His little Rinoa?"

"Why yes Sir!" Do I even know you personally? No matter, I can feel my heart pounding in excitement. "I am that girl, Sir. The one and only."

"My, you're all grown up! I can still remember you as a little girl. Short black hair still with those kindly brown eyes, always asking me for cookies everytime I paid your father a visit."

Oh. Now I remember. "Yes Sir, and you would always bring me my favorite. The raspberry ones with white chocolate."

He nods at it. "Oh yes, I clearly remember that. I would always drop by the pastry shop first before stepping into your mansion. I must! But, this place is the strangest place to see you!"

Same here, Sir. Same here.

"What can you possibly be doing here?"

I gave him a smile. "Well Sir, I'm here for the sole purpose of asking you just a few questions. I need it for an article I need to submit to Timber Maniacs by tomorrow."

He nods. "Is that all?"

"Yes Sir."

"Well then, we are wasting time now." He smiles.

Oh, Hyne bless this old man with many, many fruitful years of life.

* * *

Closing the door of my bedroom behind me, I took a deep breath of that lavender scented air and leaned myself against the door. I have everything now, everything I need for my article: a picture of the headmaster, pictures of the event, the venue, and the notes of my interview with him. I kept it all safely in my bag. For reassurance, I would look again and again in my bag until I reached this room. I slide myself down to the floor, my eyes closing. Finally, I have all the time I want for myself.

I stand up on my feet and place my bag on a chair resting in front of a desk-slash-dresser. It is also then I realized that my luggage was safely delivered here in my room and placed it beside my bed. I guess bad luck is paying off today now. I also need my rest, even for a few hours before I start writing my article. But above all, I need to take a nice, long shower.

I approach my luggage, unsealing the zipper to take my toiletries and my pyjamas before going to the bathroom. Flicking the switch, the dim light emits a soothing golden aura, revealing a medium round bathtub, an ivory toilet bowl, and a stylish counter with an elephant-shaped faucet. I'm beginning to wonder how much Timber Maniacs paid for my accommodations. Must be worth a fortune.

Curiously, I rub my fingers against the intricately engraved faucet. Realizing that the handle is the elephant's trunk, I lift it.

No water.

I pull it down before lifting it again and again before finally realizing that no water, not even a drop, is coming out! I approach the shower to try and turn on its own faucet, and neither does it supply any water!

My day. My curse-filled day just can't get any better.

* * *

The kindly (but fairly unhelpful) lady at the reception told me that their water system on the floor where my room is located is under maintenance. When I asked room service how long will it take, they could not give me a straight answer, only saying that it might take a few long hours, but they are "doing the best they can."

I cannot simply take that chance. I have to do something. After all, I need to work on my article, and I can't just write my article the best that I could if I am not the best of myself. I can't just accept this fate. I have to do something.

When I asked room service again where I can possibly take a bath, using an unconvincing (but buyable) excuse as "meeting an important person at the ball", the room service guy told me that there are shower rooms on the third floor that they have opened for the students of Balamb Garden. I may use the shower rooms if I wish. And I intend to.

Which then lead me here, at the unwelcoming entrance of the girls' shower room. It somehow reminds me of the chaos I have encountered earlier, but this time, full of girls about my age who don't care of their nudity. The reporters downstairs would kill to find this place, but not me. I would kill for a good long shower. Carefully, I step inside, walking along the aisle, looking for an empty cubicle where I can take a shower. No luck so far, but I will keep looking. There's ought to be at least one.

Girls are pushing me from all sides of the place, blocking my way when I try to check an empty cubicle, until someone occupies it. They would not allow me to retreat either, until a girl with curly brown hair purposely blocks my way, her arms crossed.

"You're not allowed in here." She said. "Only students are allowed to use the showers in this room."

I stand there dumbfounded. I can't tell her anything about who I am, nor my profession. I can only tell her my purpose. "Water is not working on my floor, and I just wanted a—"

"You're not allowed in here." She repeated. "Not while we're here. Get out."

I could only nod, hugging my things closer to my chest. "Okay." I murmur under my breath as I turn around and head for the exit.

Hopelessly, I stare at the entrance of the shower room before turning around to head back to my room. Should I just wait for the water to come back? I probably should. I have no choice but to wait.

But I badly need to take my shower.

I turn to the other side, as if looking for a moment of hope. And then it just came.

There is an identical room at the other side of the hall. It looks just like the shower room I've been too, only unlit. Curiously, I approach it and went inside. The entrance is dark, but light is emitting from the farther side of the room. Placing my hand against the wall, feeling the switch of the light, I flick it open.

This shower room is empty. I smile to myself.

I will take a shower tonight!

Putting my things on a bench, I removed my clothes and wrapped a towel around myself as my only clothing. Taking my soap and shampoo with me and leaving the rest of my things, I walk towards the shower cubicles. But the closer I get, the louder I hear sound of water splashing against the floor. Warm fog also starts to spread around me, leaving small droplets of water on my sweating skin. Someone is in here?

I wave my arms in front of me to push away the fog and see more clearly of my path. But horror strikes me.

In front of me are tall, muscular young men of my age wearing nothing to cover their naked wet bodies. They are not bewildered as I am at my presence, only puzzled on how the hell I ended up here.

Quickly, I close my widened eyes, and for extra protection, covering them with my hand. I can feel my cheeks scalding under my palm, while my other hand is desperately holding tightly on my towel. "I-I'm so sorry! So sorry! I've been very stupid to end up here! Uh…" turning around, my sight still concealed, I approach the aisle where the benches are, but carefully taking my steps blindingly. I plan to take my take my things before I escape and further embarrassing myself. But I know more and more of their eyes are watching me, the only girl in the men-filled room. I feel sick at the pit of my stomach, and sorry for myself.

Only a pair of large, warms hands placed on either of my shoulders could stop me from my way.

"Looking for a shower?" The deep voice says to me.

I feel my body stiffen. And my heart… it stops beating. My lips are paralyzed, unable to answer him.

I can feel his gentle hands brushing against my shoulder and my forearms, as he begins pushing me ever so mildly to walk, as if leading me somewhere. I don't understand why, but I can't even do as much as asking where we are going. Suddenly, my hand felt the need to remove itself from my eyes, but still leaving them closed. I couldn't open them. It pains to open them. I feel afraid that I might not like what I'll see. But a big part of me wants to see what is going on. And who is this guy behind me? Where is he taking me?

Or is it better to just be oblivious until it's done?

I feel his hands leaving my arms and taking my free hand. "Watch your step."

I finally open my eyes in his command, but the fog that welcome us makes it painful. I look upon my feet, watching them step on clean white tiles that form a small stairs leading to a large room. I look at my guide, but the best that my vision can show me is the brown hair that he dons. I try to look at the rest of his body.

No clothes whatsoever. Not even a towel.

I feel myself become petrified, but the way he leads me… makes me want to follow. What spell is this?

Then he stops… we stop. In front of us is a large, oblong bathtub, half-filled with water. He leads me to step into it, and I obediently sit, feeling the warm water cloaking the lower half of my body. And he did too, right behind me.

And as if to comfort me, to soothe me, he wraps his muscular arms around me, caressing every inch of me. I begin to calm down, to give into his touch. I don't care what happens in this bath anymore. I just want to give myself, every part of my weak body, to him. Whoever this gentle man is.

I brush my slender fingers against the skin of his strong arms, and I can feel his embrace grow tighter at every movement of my hands. I feel his chest pressing against my back, and his thighs trapping my bare waist. I feel his lips, finally grazing the nape of my neck, his breath against my skin only making it even more irresistible. I bend my neck to the other side in order to give him more skin to kiss, to feast over. I then take this chance to get a glance of him, even for the slightest. And my curiosity gave me nothing but a reward; a rewarding knowledge that this stranger, the one whose perfectly sculpted body has trapped my own, is possibly the most beautiful being my eyes have ever seen. His perfectly shaped jaws straining against his cheeks as his mouth softly scrapes my neck, and then my shoulders. His half-lidded eyes… his piercing eyes… even against the fog, I could see the steel blue color of his longing eyes.

Carefully, I lift my hand from his arm, and sensing this, he takes my arm and guides it to his own neck. I feel myself stroking his neck, and then trailing my hand up to his hair, pushing him closer to my skin. But he only proves himself to be more powerful than I, as he hoists his own head, turns my head with his hand to meet his, and for the first time, trapped my lips into his mouth with a gentle kiss. In rhythm with every stroke of his own lips, my own follows until kisses turned into mild nibbles, and nibbles into tongues meeting, and both our curiosity grows into exploring each other's mouth. I hear myself moaning against his trap, and he responds with a growl. Our long, fiery kiss persists each of us, the sounds we make are our only indication of how much more we need. But that does not prove enough.

His hand begins to travel from the area above my bellybutton down to the area between my thighs. The half part of my lips slightly escapes his as I gasp for air, but at a very split second, he stole my lips again for his. This only leaves me to react on his rising pleasure with my breaking out moans that grows louder and louder at every stroke of his crafty hands. It is only then, at this moment, that I realized how warm I have been feeling down there, and the warm water that envelopes us has served nothing but as an inflammation of the heat.

I can already taste the sweet flavor of his saliva that has already dominated all of my mouth, storing it into my mind… my memory. I will never forget it. With my hand, I guided his other hand to my breasts, allowing him to fondle them. And he did. He did so gently at first, until his fingers reach the tips. And there that his hand became rougher on every bit of what my bodily globes can offer. Harder, and harder he goes; both on my chest, and the flower in flame between my thighs.

I cannot handle it anymore. And neither can he.

His hands leave my sensitive areas, and his lips finally let go of mine, letting me catch up with the air my lungs need. He lift me by the waist and, before I could think, before I could react, I feel his length enter me.

It stuns me. But the only word of protest, if any, that escapes my mouth, it is the word "Oh…"

But he is an impatient one. He slides it inside me painfully slowly at first, so slow that I ache for more. I bite my lip, and let my hips follow to his slow rhythm. I can hear his growl between his heavy breathing, and I cannot control my moan from slipping away my mouth. And by the minute, we see ourselves going faster, and faster on the ride, and his growls becoming deeper and louder. I can only beg by whispering "faster… please…"

And he would comply. Obediently. Just as I was with him earlier.

I need to see the face of this stranger. I just need to remember his face.

With him still inside me, I turn around, feeling his hands guiding me at this silent request. And as I lock his hips between my legs, so did his blue eyes with mine. His rigid, steel eyes turn soft the longer I gaze in them. They relaxed when I touch his cheek, as if in peace, calming at my reach. I study his eyes, the shape of his brows, the contour of his sharp jaws, the softness of his perfectly sculpted lips…

"Beautiful…" He said in his gaze.

I smile at his statement. He reaches for my lips and we locked ourselves in a kiss, once again.

And we start moving again. But this time, harder. Faster. More eager than before. I could feel the pain, and I found the pleasure in pain. His hands around my waist pull me closer to him until every measurement of his length digs deeper into me. My mind has left me, and my body is responding on its own.

I hear voices- our voices, bouncing on the walls of this room. And the faster he thrusts himself in me, the louder those echoes become, calling for the release. And release… release we have reached!

And then…

And then…!

"AH!"

* * *

I wake up.

I blink at the blurry vision my eyes are giving me at this moment in time. I look around me just to realize that I still am inside my hotel room. Not inside a shower room, nor a bathtub. Just alone here, sitting at the foot of my door, inside my hotel room.

"A dream." I shake my throbbing head. "Just a dream."

I can feel my heart drop at the pit of my being.

But that's one helluva dream. It felt so… real. Especially his… how should I put it… tool? Wow…

And his face… It's so perfect! I'm beginning to wonder if I have reached the breaking point of my sanity that I'm starting to be this hopeless romantic. So much so that my imagination had perfected the image of my dream guy. The memory of him is so... vivid. Had I been gifted with good hands, I could probably draw him right now. But I am positive that I need no reminder of his face because it's possibly imprinted in my brain permanently by my subconscious.

I stand up on my feet to study my room. And indeed, the luggage is where I'm expecting it to be: right beside my bed. And my bag that I was carrying earlier, already on the chair in front of the desk-slash-dresser.

Walking into the bathroom, every detail of it is the same as I remember it. Even the intricately engraved elephant faucet is there. But this time, when I lifted its trunk, water came out. I smile to myself. At least now I can stick to my original plan. Take a shower, write the article, and get some more rest.

I feel myself sigh.

* * *

Two pages worth of this article, and it's only eleven in the evening. I'm on a roll. Concentration, silence, and the chocolate milk that I had the room service boy delivered here in the room are my best of friends. And thanks to them, I'm almost done too!

Typing the last words on my keyboard, I lean back on my chair as I review my work. Taking a sip of my milkshake, my eyes hastily scan the words on my screen. Well, I'm satisfied for now, but I bet I'll have more ideas tomorrow morning when my head is refreshed. Deciding to call it a day, I saved my file and turned off my computer.

Standing up and taking my time to stretch, I can hear my bones clicking. Oh, the heavenly feeling of it… I could use a spa right now. I heard there's one somewhere in the hotel. But maybe that can wait until tomorrow after I have submitted my article. A little reward that I deserve for all this hard work.

_Ring! Ring!_

… Is that my phone?

_Ring! Ring!_

Oh, what is it now!

I reach for my bag and looking for my phone with my hand, I finally found it, the name of my editor flashing on the screen.

"Sir."

"Rinoa, the Headmaster is going to reveal his best mercenary. Cover it!"

"B-but Sir, we haven't—"

"Now! Quickly!"

"R-right away!"

I hang up, taking my camera and my notepad with me, and head for the auditorium.

* * *

I don't care if I am only in my pajamas under my coat as I am witnessing everything now. I just want to take the picture of who they call "The Storm That Never Falters" guy. They arranged a podium with numerous microphones just for one Headmaster Cid Kramer. As usual, he is wearing that gentle smile on his face as he delivers his speech.

"I am aware that most, if not all, of you are extremely curious about this so-called 'Best Mercenary' of Balamb Garden. And although all of my students are, indeed, the best mercenaries around, he always had his record clean and flawless. He never failed a mission, and he always delivers them perfectly well. But this good news always comes with doubts from people everywhere. And so, to be fair for this boy, both my wife and I agreed to finally introduce my mercenary formally to all of you."

Loud murmurs erupt, cameras continuously flashing, including mine.

"Meet my very young SeeD, whom I have just promoted to Commander."

I almost dropped my camera the moment he steps on the stage.

Piercing steel blue eyes. Perfectly sculpted jaws. Brown hair…

He is real.

"Squall Leonhart."


End file.
